Red Wine
by Enlightened Apostle
Summary: Red Wine follows the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Greg Lestrade as they solve crimes and have regular encounters with a mystery woman known as 'Lindsey Walters'. Who is this mysterious woman and how does she seem to know all three of them? Who is Moriarty? The game is afoot. AU of all seasons. Will eventually lead to OC/Sherlock.
1. Lindsey Walters

Lindsey was a woman of small pleasures; a glass of wine in the evening, perhaps a movie or an interesting novel to accompany it. What she was not overly fond of dead bodies lying on her carpet after assassins had tried, and failed, to kill her. Unfortunately it was something that happened more often than she would like to admit. Not that she would have anyone to admit it to, that would place them in as prickly a situation as she was. In short, Lindsey had found out the hard way that it wasn't clever to infiltrate certain criminal organisations with no one to back her up. It had a tendency to go sour quickly. She should have taken up Scotland Yards offer.

In honesty, things had been going rather well. She had gotten very high up in the ranks. It had taken a single slip. A literal slip, too. She should have died her hair instead of wearing a wig, which much was clearly obvious after she had fallen down a couple of stairs and it had come slightly off. It was shocking how much secret organisations would get antsy once they realised one part of you was fake. It was all 'what else are you hiding' and 'who do you work for' and 'how much do you know'. Tiring questions like that.

She'd been on the run ever since, which was a shame because she had been incredibly close to finding out who had run the organisation. No one had seemed to want to say his name. As if the very mention would bring a tidal wave crashing down on to anyone who had the gall to utter it. She took another sip of her red wine and shook her head slightly. It wasn't the first time that she had been out of her depth, and it more than likely wouldn't be the last. She needed help, and her source was anything to go by she could only get help from one duo, the last person that she would have ever wanted to go to, a duo that would see through her instantly and work out exactly what she was capable of. Lindsay Walters was going to have to employ the assistance of the baker street consulting detectives, and that didn't please her one little bit.

xXx

Sherlock Holmes was bored. That was bad. Sherlock Holmes did not like to be bored. When Sherlock Holmes was bored bad things happened to the flats furniture- or worse. He hadn't been on a case in some time, and when John got back to the flat with the shopping there was another one of Mrs. Hudson's pillows on the floor. At least it might have been a pillow. There were definitely feathers and felt involved.

"I'm bored, John," Sherlock lamented out loud before his flat mate had even entered the room. "I need a case."

"You could always help me put the shopping away, you know," John replied, his arms laden with food and tea supplies. The army doctor rolled his eyes when Sherlock made no move to assist him. He hadn't been expecting it, not really, but it would have been nice nonetheless. "How did Mrs. Hudson's furniture offend you this time then?" John asked, ignoring the mess of what could have been a human brain that was sitting uncovered on the kitchen counter.

"Bored," was Sherlock's only response. John would get nothing else out of him. Not until a case showed up, and even then it would only be case related. Although John respected Sherlock deeply and was very glad to be able to call him a friend, he could often be incredibly infuriating. John didn't attempt to engage in any further conversation and instead busied himself by putting away his groceries. That in itself was a challenge when living with the great Sherlock Holmes. Each cupboard could hold a new mysterious smell or eyesore. The fridge and freezer were definitely a no go.

"John, don't move," Sherlock stated, his breath hot against the back of John's neck. He didn't know how the man had gotten next to him without making a sound and had to suppress his startled jump.

"Why not?" John asked, his entire body still.

"You may have been about to step in a bear trap. Take a step back, slowly."

John looked down at the ground, his foot was hovering barely centimetres above a mean looking contraption; sharp, serrated, metal jaws that would have had no trouble in removing the bottom half of his leg entirely. "Sherlock," John started, his voice dangerously calm. He moved his leg back and stepped away from the device. "Why is there a bear trap in our kitchen, and why did you not choose to tell me about it earlier?"

"It was an experiment?" Sherlock tried, his lips turned slightly upwards in a way that only occurred when John had done something that he found particularly amusing.

"An experiment involving a bear trap. A bear trap on the floor. A bear trap on the floor that you had given me no warning about." John replied, his anger leaking through as he ranted.

"Yup," Sherlock replied simply, twisting on the spot.

Before John could react to chastise him further the front door bell rung. Sherlock's head whipped to the door at such a speed that John was surprised he hadn't given himself some sort of neck injury.

"Expecting some one?" John asked.

"No," he replied, "but then cases are never really expected."

Mrs. Hudson had opened the door. John couldn't make out what she was saying, but she was definitely talking. Footsteps on the stairs came next and John could tell that Sherlock was trying to work out as much as he could from that alone. John shook his head and slunk into his chair. It always went this way. Sherlock would be without a case that he deemed worthy for a couple of days and then, out of nowhere, someone would show up with a seven or an eight and they would get involved.

The door opened and in stepped a woman. She was a brunette with equally brown eyes, wearing a three quarter length tan jacket and had a pair of converse on her feet, which was rather odd when you considered the suit she was wearing. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in thought, obviously not what he had been expecting.

"Sherlock Holmes?" The woman asked, looking directly at the man in question, a small smile on her lips. Sherlock nodded and gestured to the sofa that was opposite both his and Johns arm chairs. Neither of them said anything and John found the silence near overwhelming. It was charged, not the normal silence that they got from a nervous client.

"We'll take the case," Sherlock said after a moment, his eyes narrowing at her slightly. John blinked and turned to his friend.

"She hasn't even said anything," John exclaimed.

"She doesn't have to," Sherlock countered, "This is a nine, at least."

John swallowed hard. They had never had a nine before. Not since they had introduced the rating system. If it was a nine, and she hadn't even said anything yet, they might need to increase the range of their scale.

"Lindsey," the woman on the sofa stated, tilting her head to one side slightly. "Lindsey Walters, and I must say Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, I'm almost disappointed."

"Disappointed?" John asked. How could she say such a thing? She hadn't given them any information and Sherlock had already taken the case, yet she was disappointed?

"It's in the way you sit, Mr. Watson," she started to clarify, her eyes darting over to him. "It betrays you, I'm afraid." She gave a long sigh, shaking her head. "And you, Mr. Holmes, I expected much more from you. The world's only consulting detective. You were both my only chance at getting out of this. I suppose I'll have to think something else up now."

Without another word she stood, turned on her heel, and left the flat. Neither Sherlock nor John made a move to stop her.

"Have you got any idea who that woman was?" John asked, glancing over to Sherlock. Sherlock, to John's surprise, had a very large grin on his face.

"She wasn't boring!" Sherlock exclaimed. "We'll take the case, yes, we'll take the case." Sherlock sprang onto his feet and rung his hands, paced back and forth a few times, before grabbing his coat and throwing it on.

"What case?" John asked, standing up slower than the detective.

"That's the point. It's a test!" Sherlock replied, tying his scarf around his neck.

"A test?" John replied.

"Yes John, a test, please do keep up," Sherlock exclaimed, tapping his foot impatiently as John pulled on his own jacket.

"But what do we do? She hasn't given us anything to go on. She only told us her name and that she was disappointed with us."

"Her name, John, her name. It's all we need. She _IS_ the case," Sherlock replied, rubbing his hands together as if Father Christmas had just given him a particularly wonderful gift. Not that he believed in Father Christmas, he had debunked that little myth of his parents at the age of two. Without another word Sherlock darted out of the flat. John sighed; it always ended up like this. He left slightly behind whilst Sherlock went off on a tangent. He hurried out of the door to try and catch up with him. It was set to be a long day.


	2. Scotland Yard

"I need everything you've got on Lindsey Walters," Sherlock ordered, slamming a hand down on the desk in front of him with considerable force to make his urgency more obvious.

Lestrade did not look amused. He had lent back in his chair and had one eyebrow risen in, seemingly, disbelief at Sherlock's continued audacity at strolling into Scotland Yard and demanding things willy nilly, especially when they weren't even working on a case together.

"Who is Lindsey Walters?" Lestrade responded. Sherlock rolled his eyes in response.

"She's the case, do keep up. I need everything you know, and don't give me that look because I'm sure that you have her on file."

Lestrade tried to keep from narrowing his eyes at the other man, and very nearly failed. Sherlock could be the biggest pain in the neck when he wanted to be, but he was always useful when it came to the crunch. It was usually a good idea to keep on his good side, even if it was just for the future help.

"How're you so sure about that?" Lestrade questioned, knowing that he had probably given something or other away for the consulting detective to pick up on. Sherlcok raised his right eyebrow in disbelief and looked poised to go in for a full length rant. "Okay, don't get started… The name sounds familiar," Lestrade picked up the land line phone that was sitting on his desk and dialed in a number. "Donavon, do we have a 'Lindsey Walters' on file?" He asked into the phone. Lestrade was silent for a moment, only making some small humming sounds in response to whatever it was Donovan was saying. At one point it looked like he had to suppress a chuckle. Sherlock rolled his eyes. By this point he was used to their underhand jabs at his sanity and person, they were laughable most of the time and rarely irked him in the way that he imagined they would like them to.

"Well?" Sherlock asked, tapping his foot to show his impatience.

"Yeah we've got her on file, Donovan's bringing her up now. But what's this about a case? Do you need our help?" Lestrade asked cautiously.

Sherlock looked positively mortified at the thought. He didn't go to the police for help, they came to him for help. He was a consulting detective, not a detective that was ready to be consulted. "No, Lestrade, all I need from you is the files, and then we'll be on our way."

"On your way? You can't possibly think I'm letting you walk out of the building with them," Lestrade retorted.

"You've never objected in the past, I don't see why now would be any different," Sherlock deadpanned, almost as if he were egging the other man into a fight. Lestrade fidgeted in his seat for a moment, unsure of how to progress.

"No, fine, you're right. If it helps stop whatever it is you're stopping then fine. It's probably something important anyway."

Donovan chose that moment to enter the dress. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, taking her in. A modest black jumper covering what was probably a standard button up shirt. She was wearing trousers, and they didn't look like they were her own, probably held up by someone else's belt too. A hint of deodorant lingered as she walked past, shooting Sherlock and John a dirty look as she did so, and that was definitely not her own either. Sherlock didn't even try to hide the small smirk that had made its way onto her lips.

"Lindsey Walters, for the freak. Not that we should even be letting them see this stuff, it's classified," Donovan snarked, tossing the file onto Lestrade's deck. It was brown and unassuming, like all files at Scotland Yard where. But within it would hold a menagerie of wonderful secrets and titbits of information, all of which would let Sherlock get closer and closer to finding out who Lindsey Walters was. In all honesty, it probably wouldn't take him that long. The only reason that he wanted the police file was for her picture. She had been wearing a wig when she had visited the flat, it sat very slightly askew on the top of her head. No one would notice if they weren't paying close attention. He needed her real hair colour, the one that she would wear in a photo or on the way out to the shops. That would be the only way that the homeless network would be able to track her down. He'd have it done by morning.

"Thank you Lestrade," Sherlock stated pleasantly, taking the file and turning on his heel. John followed him out of the office, still not saying a word, but they could both hear Donovan yelling after them. Probably some semantics about confidentiality. Sherlock brushed it off with a swish of his cloak and a closed door, he'd stopped paying attention to her as soon as she'd placed the file on the table.

xXx

They sat at the table with the file between the two of them. It was sunny outside, the light lancing through the window and shining directly onto the file like it were a god given message to open it. John wasn't able to focus on the task at hand, however. He was hungry. He'd already ordered his tapas and now he was waiting for it, but that didn't stop the distraction from his stomach.

"You really don't eat on cases, do you?" John asked.

Sherlock allowed himself to look up from the front of the file, he had a small smile on his face, as if the very notion of eating on a case was amusing. "The digestion slows me down," Sherlock stated as way of explanation. John wasn't entirely sure how accurate that self diagnosis was, he was a doctor. Nothing had ever been said in his studies about digestion slowing down cognitive processes. If anything hunger would slow you down much more than digestion would. Before John could bring it up his food was brought along. All thoughts of Sherlock's unusual eating habits were replaced by the need to fulfil his own stomachs orders.

Sherlock opened the file. He had wanted to wait until John's food had arrived. As much as he liked the man that sat opposite him, he could be a distraction. Sometimes that was a good thing, hi distracting nature, that was why he kept the man around. But other times it could be hinderence, such as when he wanted to go through sensitive documents. The file had her picture at the very front of it, her name underneath it. Unlike the unassuming brunette hair that she had worn to the flat her real hair was a vibrant red. Sherlock allowed himself to smile at that. Blazing red hair and a penchant for odd footwear whilst wearing suits? She would be incredibly easy to pick out. Her brown eyes had flecks of a lighter hazel in them, something that he hadn't noticed when she had been sitting so far away from him in the flat. Her eyes looked old, older than the rest of her face. That made sense considering the way in which she had approached them.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and fired off a text to his homeless network, informing them of exactly what they should be looking out for. It wouldn't be long before they got results, the needy worked quickly when there was something to gain in the job for them, and they would be paid handsomly upon their return. Sherlock began to leaf through the file, doing nothing more than skim reading key words and phrases. It was impressive, her repotoire, and not too disimilar from his own. The only difference was that she had actually been on the force. Sherlock had no such ties. It was surprising that she hadn't been brought to his attention sooner.

"So," John said around a mouth full of tapas. "What does the file say?"

"Exactly what I expected it to," Sherlock replied shortly.

"And what does that mean?" John replied.

"It means, John, that we are many steps closer to finding the mysterious Lindsey Walters."

_**AN: Really hope you enjoyed the chapter. I know that it's kinda short, and that isn't the usual for Sherlock fics that plan to be lengthy, but with my A-Levels coming up I don't really have that much writing time that I can do my own thing with. Should all be over in three weeks, then I'll be able to dedicate much more time to the fic. **_


End file.
